


Fist Fight

by Shally



Category: Hajime no Ippo | Fighting Spirit
Genre: Cursing and fights, M/M, Takamura planned it all probably, second meetings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 14:39:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11853666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shally/pseuds/Shally
Summary: Sendo was expecting some surprises when he decided to take part in a boxing tournament in New York. After getting tickets to a top tier fight from Takamura of all people (that shifty bastard), Sendo runs into the the last person he ever thought he'd see.Old flames come in many forms, and sometimes crushes tend to start with a good ol street fight.





	Fist Fight

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for Rouvere

There was something about loss that made everything fall into perspective. 

When life was based around a competitive sport that relied on heavy fists and heavy words, it was easy to see how loss could be the hardest hit around. Despite the dempsey rolls, Gazelle Punches, Counters, Flickers or Liver blows Sendo had faced in his boxing career, loss had to be the worst pain of them all. At least he could heal from a body blow, or even rest after a particularly painful match. 

Loss was something that didn’t seem to wanna leave him, and the worst part had to be the fact that he had been a winner for all his life. Every match, every street fight in Osaka, every battle of wits; Sendo never found himself on the bottom of the barrel until it came to Makunouchi Ippo. 

He had lost to Ippo, and it was only after Sendo had gritted his teeth and watched Ippo fight Date Eiji from the stands for the title that Sendo realized that this was what true competition looked like. It had been both a blessing and a curse to see Ippo lose, and then have Date relinquish his hold on the spot of top dog. The match that had followed theirs was simply to claim an impromptu winner. Someone to call the Japanese featherweight champion. 

They needed someone to wear the belt, and that was how Sendou first met Alexander Volg. 

The russian man had been a mix between a shepherd and a poodle when seen on the streets. He had a vague sense of awareness about those around him, but a softness that drew people to him without any sort of fear. It was probably why people like Ippo and his friend Umezawa had found themselves surrounding the fiery haired man. That, and a collection of fans from Japan who had cheered for Volg as if he had been grown and raised on their soil. 

Of course that all changed when it came to the featherweight championship match. No one was expecting two headstrong, heavy punchers to face off within the ring. 

When Volg was in a corner, he was able to bare his teeth and show that even if he looked like a dog he was a purebred wolf at heart. Well, that wolf was now face to face with a tiger, a piece of imagery that Sendo had first thought to be foolish and perhaps even corny (he was much more of a devil than he was an overgrown feline), but overtime the comparison managed to stick. 

The match had been bloody, in all sense of the term. 

Sendo remembers having beat his fists raw, especially considering how many times he had hit Volg. Hell, considering how terrible his guard was, he should have been more concerned at how many times Volg had hit him. The White Fang the boxer was known for was a force to be reckoned with, and that was coming from someone who put his entire boxing career on the power of his body and the sharpness of his smash. There was a moment where Sendo had caught Volg in the face with his smash, sending the Russian to the floor in a heap. At that moment he had thought the match to be over, and the cheers of the audience around him had felt like a wave of assurance that Volg was never going to get back up. Instead, Sendo found himself in a situation where Volg was back on his feet, and even though he had clinched and clinched and clinched until the round had been over, there was nothing more terrifying than seeing someone take a blow so cleanly and still find the will to fight. 

During one of the later rounds, even with Sendo’s eye swelled shut, and Volg’s endurance running dangerously low, the pressure in the ring was enough to keep both men on their feet, even if they had butt heads throughout the entire match. Staring face to face, dangerously close enough to throw a hit that could probably kill, it came down to the bare bones of what both men were able to do. 

Smash. Block. Smash. White Fang. Counter. One after the other. The sound of blows were the loudest thing in the entire stadium, that and the horrified gasps of viewers watching two men potentially kill each other. 

Even from the stands, Sendo had known that Ippo and Miyata were calculating each and every one of their moves, trying to gauge who would win, and who’s boxing career would be over due to such brutality. Sendo couldn’t remember the last time he had been so desperate in a fight, other than fighting Ippo that is. 

The fact that Volg had instilled actual fear into Sendo had earned his respect; even at the end, with his back against the ropes, and his body begging for him to rest, it had come down to a decision. 

A russian boxer in a country he didn’t belong to vs. a hometown hero with a city of hopefuls on his fist. 

Sendo tastes blood every time he thinks about how he was the winner of that clear call. They hadn’t even taken more than a few moments to consider who the title holder would be. 

Sendo was elated, of course, but also bitter as fuck. How couldn’t he be when the battle had been so intensive, and the winner picked so instantaneously. He hated the fact it had been on his own home turf; the pressure that came with being hated by almost everyone had probably caused Volg to accept his loss as quickly as Sendo had taken to realize he didn’t truly deserve his win. 

Call it being prideful, but Sendo wasn’t about that bias life. If he didn’t win through hard work up until the last second then how could he call himself a professional boxer? He knew loss, he had been a loser. He had faced hardships and the betrayal of others. His pride and his anger towards things that weren’t fair had earned him the name Rocky, which Sendo found to be another cliche nickname that had stayed with him.

The point of it all was that Sendo wanted to own the belt because he had deserved it, no more and no less. The match against Volg made him feel like something akin to a cheater, despite not having done anything to warrant such doubtful feelings. Because he was in his city, he had to bear their cheers and wear a smile, because he was their champion, and he had to act like one. Sendo had to keep the title until someone deserving was able to pry it away from him, and maybe, just maybe, if he defended the title enough times it would truly start to feel like his own. 

That he was the right choice all along. 

Perhaps Volg would ask him for another fight, which Sendo would of course accept. 

Too bad that didn’t happen. 

After their match Volg suddenly disappeared. He left the country, some say. Sendo wouldn’t be able to know for sure, he had never kept in touch with any of those he fought other than Ippo, who seemed to make it clear that the fighter with the wolf's fangs was suddenly gone for good. 

Loss...was terrible. A loss challenge, a loss rematch, a loss friendship. Something about it had been unsettling, and even when Sendo lost the title match to Ippo as he always tended to do when it came to Makunouchi. Defending the title match twice had meant nothing, and suddenly the belt was in someone else's hands, and Sendo was left with some degree of grief. 

Just act smug, and maybe it’ll all work out...Something about having to work for the belt again made him bitter, but he didn’t bother to challenge Ippo again. No, he decided that maybe it was time for Sendo too to travel. Perhaps mexico or Asia, do something like Miyata had, not that Sendo ever wanted to follow in the footsteps of someone as prissy and overbearing as the counter specialist.  

Plus, Sendo would rather lose honourably than ever be accused for copying someone else's style. So he decided out of the blue he would pick a place that no one here had ever gone to, or at least not where anyone he knew would be at. 

Walking into his gym in Osaka, Sendo remembers kicking open the door to the Naniwa Boxing Center and yelling like a damn fool. 

“Coach!” Sendo shouts, waving a paper in the air as he disrupts the other hasbin boxers from their spar, “Yanaoka, where ya at! We need to talk!”

The coach, of course, was used to Sendo’s outbursts, and had zero control over what Sendo decided to do, but even he wasn’t prepared for the next words to spill out of the man’s mouth. 

“Coach, get yer shit cuz we’re heading to America!” Sendo beams smugly, having a bag already thrown over his shoulder, his other suitcase sitting outside the boxing gym on the curb near a taxi. “I already got the tickets so let's get goin!” 

“Sendo what the hell are you talking about!”

“Old man, lets go!” 

“We can’t just go to america. You’re supposed to be in off season and I have to train the other-”

“Forget about it! I’m not askin, so either you get ready to go or I’m gonna force you out the door! Just because ya retired don’t mean I’m not willin to raise hell! Plus, I already made arrangements and all that shit.”

“You did what!”

After screaming, and yelling, and assuring that yes this wasn’t a fuckin joke, and no the tickets were non refundable, only then did Yanaoka finally drag his ass outside to gawk at the taxi sitting there for them, waiting to take them to the closest airport. 

“I don’t even have anything packed!”

“I stopped by your place first and got the wife to pack some of your junk. After some convincing she was more than happy ta send you off for a week across the ocean, as long as you make sure to bring her back somethin, and don’t be cheap about it. This is all comin out of my title match winner fund, so don’t make me regret it!”

Sure it was meant to sound casual, but Sendo was bitter. Ever since he had gone into off season, where things seemed to slow down and he was able to train at his own leisure and bulk up before having to go into match mode, Sendo felt restless. He didn't have any upcoming matches for the next six months considering now that he was no longer with the title. The line up of boxers knocking on his door had dwindled down significantly. It seemed that it was Ippo they were all eager to fight now, not that Sendo was surprised. 

Something's just never changed...for now that is.

One day Sendo would be the victor, and because he had been itching for a fight, that was how he found himself in a three star hotel on the other side of the world with nothing more than his phone, his coach, and his boxing gloves. 

"I can't believe you didn't tell me you signed up for some knockout tournament,"  his coach grumbles, glancing over the flyer Sendo had been clinging to the entire flight over. "How the hell did you even find out about a tournament in New York of all places?"

Sendo, quite content to lie on the bed and scratch at his jaw, refused to admit that the bastard Takamura had handed the sheet over to him, having filled his head with the delusion that american boxers were a hell of a lot more interesting than the plain old Japanese ones. That, and that there would be experiences only a man could have in a far out place that he wouldn't be able to take part in at home. Sendo was sure there was a dirty innuendo in there somewhere, but wasn’t interested enough to question further. 

Despite not wanting any of the Champs advice, or even bothering to remember Takamura slyly stating that the belt must have been too heavy for sendos delicate hips to carry, Sendo needed an out. An excuse to leave home and all the watching eyes. 

New York City was as good a place as any. The impromptu tournament was relatively small. 

Three matches over a nine day period, based on knockouts and technical points, never exceeding three rounds. It was more of a money grab to wet the dicks of potential sponsors then it was to actually give out a title of any sort. Sendo liked the quick pace if anything, plus the cash prize was a nice bonus. 

He was gonna need the money to get back home, seeing how he had spent most of the funds to here so quickly, but he didn’t bother tell his coach that. If anything, Sendo would just yell “I’ll handle it!” and pray to some kind of god things worked out in his favor. 

His coach, who wasn’t anything close to being an idiot, notices that Sendo has refused to answer his question, and is rather having a staring match with the wall. Something about the way Sendo was fidgeting with his fingers made Yanaoka purse his lips in vague suspicion. 

“Sendo, is there something you’re not telling me?”

Sendo snorts and looks away, not willing to make eye contact. His head was still wrapped around making money for the return trip home. “Nah, old man, why would ya think that?”

“You’re beating around the bush.”

“Beatin around the bush, the fuck you mean!” Sendo sits up, his long locks falling into his eyes until he angrily brushes them away, “They only thing I’m doing is thinking, alright! I’m excited for my first match in three months ever since losing the belt. Give me a little credit- you think I would plan something like this without thinking it through?”

Coach Yanaoka gawks at the words before clutching his head, “Are you trying to tell me you didn’t think this through!”

“Did you even hear a damn word I said!” 

“You never talk this much unless you're full of shit-”

Sendo waves a hand and stands up, moving to the door to slide on his shoes while simultaneously grabbing his wallet and stuffing it into his sweater pocket with his phone. “Yea, yea, yea, you’re getting paranoid! I’m gonna go for a light jog, don’t wait up or the jet lag is gonna hit your like a cross.”

Sendo doesn’t even wait to be told that he wasn’t avoiding the conversation, because obviously he was. Instead, he throws open the hotel door and gives one of his killer grins and darts out the low budget hotel, hearing his coach yell at him out of their window to be careful and remember where the hell he was going. The streets weren’t like back home, after all. 

New York was a hell of a place. Sendo didn’t mind the fact that the back streets were edgy, and the big cities were bustling with tourists. If anything, it reminded him of Tokyo, but more of a concrete wasteland. There were no mountains here, just skyscrapers and cityscape as far as the eye could see. He wasn’t north enough to see any lakes, but if he wanted to, maybe he would go see that giant fucking waterfall or whatever the travel website he had been on had offered as a NY hotspot. 

Scowling, Sendo figured he’d first have to make the cash before he could start dishing it. The cash prize was somewhere around a few grand per match, and then by the final round it was a percentage of sales plus a five k down. It was pocket money, and would pay for the return trip. Then he could blow the rest and say fuck it to the sense of anger he held for losing that damn belt. Like he he was gonna brood in silence like some kind of bitch. 

The first loss of his career had been earth shattering. 

This one just felt like a kick to the balls, and at least with Ippo he would be able to get a rematch, as long as the guy didn’t retire anytime soon, which didn’t seem likely in the slightest. 

“Hey, watch where the fuck you’re going!” Someone angrily shouts at Sendo as he jogs past, bumping shoulders with a guy. 

“Suck my dick, fucker!” Sendo snarls, throwing up his middle finger, despite not understanding a single world from the American’s mouth.

That was one of the problems with being in a new country; the language barrier. 

Slowing his jog to a walk, Sendo stuffs his hands into his pockets, thoroughly disgusted that there were no trails nearby, nor was there enough room to claim a sidewalk to run for by himself. Maybe it would be easier in a more urban area, and not somewhere called the Big Apple, despite their being zero apples anywhere. It was false fuckin advertising, so yea Sendo was bitter. 

Plus, he had another reason for being peeved. It sat heavy in the pocket of his trackpants, a ticket to a place Sendo sure as hell didn’t want to go. Takamura had some kind of smug looking grin when he buttered up the trip to NY deal by offering him a ticket to a boxing match, not that Takamura ever did anything for free. Even if he said it had been a kind gesture, Sendo was just waiting to be bit on the ass for this somehow. It was tedious, but curiosity was killing him seeing how the ticket seemed to be pretty pricy, not that Takamura could afford something with seats so close to the ring. Maybe it was a fake, or maybe Taka had stolen it from someone else to make Sendo look like some kind of ass. 

The stadium was near madison square garden, a name that meant a whole lotta nothing, and made Sendo wish he had just dragged his ass to some ramen inspired, corny japanese restaurant to get some comfort food. He was pretty sure he was eating his weight in burgers and fries, and he needed to keep his weight down to 120 for two more days before his first match. He’d be damned if he got eliminated because of the temptation of food. 

Another unfortunate thing had to be the fact that Madison SG was only a ten minute jog away from his hotel since that was where his matches would be taking place, so maybe he could find some place to practice shadow boxing without looking like a deranged psycho who was a little punch drunk. Last thing he needed was to be arrested in another country and have his next match back home delayed because he got fucked. 

“Fine, screw it, I’ll go, but not cuz Takamura wants me to.” Sendo growls under his breath as he makes his way towards the square, his own guide the vague memory of the map he had tried to memorize on the plane ride over. Of course, he got lost a few times seeing how that venture had been over seven hours ago closer to the afternoon as compared to now when his jet lag had exhausted him. Determination was the only high he had, and after finally fucking finding the place, the sea of people should have been his first warning sign. 

For some low budget match (Takamura’s words), there did seem to be a lot of people hanging around. Man, back home they wouldn’t ever have this many people. Not because the matches weren’t popular, but because the venue was nowhere close to holding even a fraction of the people here. It made Sendo wonder how much the tickets sold for and what kind of revenue was coming in for these rich bastards. Hell, with money like that…

Who was he kidding, he’d prob be broke from spending it on everyone else. That was just the kind of person he was at the end of the day. 

Pulling out the ticket, there were directions and numbers on the back, but when it came to who was fighting who, one matchup had been crossed out with black marker, with a picture of Takamura’s face on the front doodled with silver pen. Of course Takamura would do some stupid shit like this, Sendo wasn’t even surprised with the man anymore after their previous shower incident. 

Sendo hoped that watching this final match (seeing how he had already missed the initial opening matches) would give him the inspiration he needed to fight that fuck Arnie Gregory, his first opponent for his own bootleg tournament. The fact that he was going to have to face one of Miyata’s past opponents made his skin crawl, especially since if he lost (which wasn’t going to happen) he would have to hear about it in their own Japanese boxing news back home. 

Like hell that was going to happen. 

Following the crowd, it was easy to find gate fourteen where Sendo would be entering in from seeing how it would lead straight to the gold seats that were closest to the stage without being screwed by the height disadvantage. Once the seats started on the incline, that’s where Sendo wanted to be. Close enough to hear the blows, and see the sweat fly of in a flurry. Plus, maybe he’d see a good hook or something. He wasn’t expecting much, even as he took a seat and kicked his feet up on the rail up in front of him, his eyes focused on the ref calling the latest match, the bell ringing as one boxer had to be carried out while the other was practically booed off the stage as he threw up a fist. 

Tough crowd. Judging by the blood on the mat it seemed like it had been a doctors call rather than an official one done by points or KO. That was a shitty way to win, to be pulled off just because of a small cut. Sendo would hate to lose like that, especially since his ego would be more damaged than any physical wound. 

Cursing the fact that he has let his past bother him so much tonight, Sendou decides to focus on the arena, now cleaned from blood and any lingering sweat. The way the crowd was screaming made him at least semi hopeful match would be bitchin, and at least worth some of his time. 

“And now, the match we’ve all been waiting for!” an announcer's voice fills the stadium, and Sendo sinks lower in his chair, tempted to pull out his phone and send a rare text to his grandmother back home. Maybe tell her that NY wasn’t as interesting as it was all cracked out to be. 

And then they stepped out. 

Sendo sits up and finally clenches a fist, his eyes wide as he resists jumping up. “Fuck yea! Finally Takamura pulls through!”

“In one corner, we have ex champion, the man of the hour, David Eagle.” The man mentioned enters the ring, Sendo only knowing because he could understand his name out of the english sentence. Over his shoulders is a luxurious shawl covered in faux feathers, shining gold like the tips of his hair in the light. What a legend, to see such a heavyweight boxer who had won all his matches other than the one against Takamura when it came for the belt. This would be the man’s first match since losing the belt, and before deciding to claim the right to challenge Taka again, it seemed that he had to defend his rank as the second best in his division. Sendo pitied whatever fuck had to face Eagle. 

And out of all people, Sendo was overjoyed it was Bryan Hawk, in his batshit crazy glory. 

“This is going to be fuckin wild!” Sendo grabs the railing, seeing Hawk leap into the ring with his line up of fuck buddies. His cape, with the american flag and his own damn face, is thrown off and a the crowd cheers for their respective favs. 

Hell, Sendo wasn’t even sure who he wanted to win. Now it made sense why Takmura didn’t want to come and watch this match despite the free ticket; the man had no interest in watching two people he beat (aka losers), so he let Sendo go instead. Eh, Taka was missing out, especially seeing how Hawk looked heated, serious for once. Eagle of course was smiling to the crowds like some kind of showy prince, which made Sendo roll his eyes. He could respect talent, but he didn’t give a flying fuck about having to put on a fake persona to get people to like him. 

Fuck it, he decided who he wanted to win. 

“Give him an ass kickin, Hawk!” Sendo shouts, he was tempted to throw himself out of his seat and holler to his heart’s content. The atmosphere on the ring could only be described as bitchin, with all sorts of people getting drunk and excited as the first punch was thrown by Hawk, hitting Eagle's guard with a hiss. 

From that point on blows were flying. From Hawk’s eccentric moves and deep back lean to Eagle’s boxy yet technical hits, it was a match-up of opposites. When Takamura had fought the two he had been their (not so happy) medium. 

Sendo could see Hawk’s style was more on par with his own style of boxing, moving on for the kill and taking hits with no more than a grunt. 

There was something amazing about being so close to such  an intense fight. Usually Sendo would have preferred a birds eye view in the nose bleeds (probably because Sendo couldn't afford vip seats) and listen to commentary from the venues host. With the language barrier, Sendo had to rely solely on sight. 

Eagle was a precise hitter, his fists heavy and quick to connect, smashing into Hawk’s mouth not once but over and over. Hawk could only cough blood before countering, smoothly swinging his fist into the side of eagles chest, breaking a rib most definitely. 

The crowd would be lucky if the match lasted another round. 

This was probably the first time after losing the belt that Sendo actually felt alive seeing a fight. This shit was exciting. Everytime Hawk got a blow in, the grimace that Eagle would give was like a small victory for all under dogs who had to rely on their fists and the hardness of their body. Technical fighters were something that pissed Sendo off, and Eagle carried himself as if he were the pride of America. By all the screaming the announcer was doing, Sendo was sure that everyone in this ring was probably hoping their blond angel took the victory.Fuck that. 

"Crack him, Hawk! He's got a weak side!" Sendo couldn’t help but growl, punching the railing in anger as Eagle swings his fist, narrowly skinning Hawk, who teeters on the back of his heel to avoid the blow. 

In a second, like nothing, Hawk is on the mat. It’s unexpected seeing how Hawk had the upper hand in this fight. 

The call of "Down" is understandable, even in English. 

Sendo can't believe his eyes.

“Nice hit, Eagle! Very clean!” Someone yells from behind him, and Sendo whirls around because that hit wasn’t clean at all. 

“That was a fucking slip!” Sendo shouts back, “Are ya blind?!”

His sharp eyes scan the crowd looking for the bastard, but with a shout the entire crowd is up on their feet, and Sendo only gets a single glimpse at the one who yelled. Red hair and sharp blue eyes. That, and a bitter feeling of something. 

Turning back to the fight, it looks that the ref has been cornered by Hawk, who’s screaming in English and swinging his fists, clearly pissed that a slip was called as a down. Something about the scenario is all too familiar for Sendo, except he remembers standing in Eagles spot, up against the posts, watching what he knew was wrong but not saying a single thing. Eagle was the favourite to win. Hawk was lucky to be in the ring against him. 

Sendo grits his teeth. It’s probably better not to think about it, and now considering a riot has broken out amongst the fans, it seems that even the announcers are heated at the refs gesturing hands. Feeling the mood fizzle into only spite, Sendo kicks the railing before him and stands, hearing the bell for disqualification ring as Hawk swings at the ref, catching the man off guard and knocking him out cold. What a fucking ungraceful way to lose a fight. Hell, seeing how pricy the tickets were, if Sendo had paid for them he would probably be screaming too. Instead, he elbowed his way past punks and snobs and beelined towards the exit, hellbent on getting the hell out of here...that is, until his tournament fight. 

Without realizing it, he was following after a man with a hood, despite the air being not that chilly for American standards. Even so, Sendo shoves his hands into his pockets, and as soon as the duo breaks through the throngs of angry groups of customers demanding their money back (hell, Sendo knew what backlash looked like. Thank god none of his fights had ended in such a headache). 

Sendo finally breaths in a sigh of relief as he finds himself in open air, and is slightly tempted to thank the guy who played human shield for him to get out of the crowd That is, until the man removes his hood and that damn red hair comes back into sight. And Sendo knows, oh hell does he know, that it’s the same bastard who he wanted to fight in the stadium. Just his luck. Before Sendo can shout something the guy probably won’t understand, he turns his head, looks at the road, and darts across the street. 

The words die on his tongue and Sendo can’t believe his own eyes. 

“Volg?” He gawks. 

Impossible. 

And yet, Sendo darts after Volg across the street (why? Why the hell is he doing this?) and keeps on him as if he was being paid. This couldn’t just be a crazy coincidence, seeing an old opponent who disappeared off the face of the earth in New York just as it was the month of this petty, child sized tournament. This wasn’t a fight he expected, but who was Sendo to say no. 

Takamura must be laughing like a smug bastard somewhere, having known this was going to happen all along. 

Like hell Sendo was going to let Volg get away.


End file.
